


through the winter morning

by dizzy



Series: we're all fucking fine 2020 advent fics [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: Balance is important. (So are naps.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: we're all fucking fine 2020 advent fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035990
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	through the winter morning

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _aziraphale/crowley (anything in this pairing i'd just love to see your take on them!)_

Crowley does go too fast for him. 

He's impatient in line at the deli counter and in traffic. He paces like a cat wanting out of doors when Aziraphale is making his morning tea, even knowing how Aziraphale likes to take his time and let it steep precisely the number of minutes the tiny little letters on the package says. 

He never sits still. Never stops to enjoy the small pleasures in life. He isn't one for walks in the park or moonlit beach strolls. He scowls at children playing in the street and disappears stop signs when he thinks they're in his way. 

Aziraphale always fusses and complains. He always grabs at Crowley's sleeve or tries to miracle the car down to a much more tolerable speed. 

He tells Crowley when the flowers are smelling particularly lovely. 

He'll bring Crowley a cup of tea steeped with more than the power of a heavenly mind. 

He'll play music that takes its time to reach a crescendo instead of hurtling with an increasingly frantic pace toward it. 

And sometimes, now and then, he'll catch Crowley in a moment of weakness and lure him onto a sofa with cushions that are extra soft and he'll make the air smell of lavender and the wood-burning fireplace he loves so much. He'll sit tucked in close with his shoulder pressed to Crowley's and he'll slide the glasses off of Crowley's face so he can see his true eyes underneath and he'll smile at the bashful way Crowley looks to the side. 

He'll laugh softly and tease gently and coax a smile out of Crowley's thin lips and he'll talk - he'll tell stories, the kind that weave tangent after tangent into a blanket of tales that are certainly all true, of course they are, would an angel lie to you? 

Fine, perhaps some details are exaggerated. But the root of them is buried deep in history and Crowley listens to all the words that spill out of Aziraphale's mouth, even the ones he's heard before again and again. 

Usually at a point that might or might not be halfway through, (Aziraphale rarely knows how long he'll go until he's done) he'll hear the gentle reedy snore come from Crowley's mouth. 

Crowley doesn't need to sleep, as a rule. Neither of them really do. But naps are just so luxurious, they're one of Aziraphale's very favorite things. Naps mean slowing down and taking time for precisely nothing but closing your eyes and it makes him feel more floaty than a balloon filled with hot hair when he manages to coax Crowley into one. 

Because Crowley goes fast, sometimes too fast, and Aziraphale goes sometimes too slow, but sometimes Aziraphale needs to feel the wind on his face speeding along a sharply curved backroad and sometimes Crowley needs to stop and close his eyes and they both know, deep down, that there's joy to be found in these inbetweens.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sarah, for whom my affection is definitely ineffable.


End file.
